


A Fine Line

by Schattengestalt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blowjobs, Caring John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insecure John, Insecure Sherlock, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-25 03:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12521580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: After the conclusion of a horrible abuse case, John reflects on his relationship with Sherlock and comes to some frightening results.John stared at his hands. They were shaking. In fact, his whole body was shaking as the realisation hit him: He was abusing his power over Sherlock. Manipulating him to do things, he didn't want to do, with the excuse that his boyfriend needed someone to look after him."Oh fuck!"





	1. The Deduction

**Author's Note:**

> This story as two chapters and I'm hopeful that I will be able to post the next one in the next two to three weeks.^^ Let me know how you like the story, especially as I'm a little nervous about writing about such a sensitive topic. Feel free to tell me if I didn't handle it with enough care.
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mentions and descriptions of spousal abuse (NOT between Sherlock and John)!

### The Deduction

"I didn't know that you smoked." John frowned at Sally as she took a drag from her cigarette and was only met with a shrug. "I don't... or at least, I haven't in several years, but this case..." She didn't finish her sentence and truthfully, there was no need to give voice to the terrible secrets they had unearthed at the manor that loomed behind them.

 

John certainly didn't want to recall the past few days in too much detail. It sent a cold shudder down his spine whenever he thought about it and considering how used he was too gruesome deaths and psychopathic games, that meant something. He couldn't blame Sally for craving a smoke, when even Sherlock had been upset about the case... although John doubted that anyone of the Yarders had noticed the detective's unease, when they had finally unraveled the whole bloody - literally - puzzle.

 

"It would have been easier to handle, if Miller had killed his daughter for some selfish reasons, instead of..."

 

Obviously John had been wrong and Sally wanted to talk about the case, after all. A silent sigh escaped past his lips and he glanced in the general direction, where he suspected Sherlock. The detective was where he had left him - in front of the main entrance to the manor - and talking animatedly to the federal law prosecutor, Greg and another man, John had never seen before.

 

"Arthur Greenhill," Sally answered John's unvoiced questions as she followed his gaze. "He is a psychologist. I have worked with him a few times. He is good at his job, but... I doubt that it would have changed anything, if we had consulted him sooner. It's most certainly too late now, but..." Sally shrugged and John nodded in understanding. It was normal procedure to consult a psychologist in such a case... in the case of stumbling over an unhealthy, abusive relationship in the midst of their investigations. John shuddered, when he recalled the shock at realising the depths of Mrs. Miller's manipulations.

 

"She has completely broken him over the years." Sally's voice was laced with disgust and John wouldn't have been surprised if she had spat on the ground. "She told me that it started small at first - telling him when and what to eat, ordering him around in general, taking her anger out on him by slapping him or throwing things at him or... commanding him into her bed - and that she didn't manipulate him intentional at first. Obviously she was just an abusive piece of shit, until..." Sally took another shaking drag from her cigarette. "Until she realised that he would do anything to please her, that he would crawl on the floor just to get a few crumbs of love."

 

John would have laughed at Sally's poetic description, if the situation hadn't been so sad. Mrs. Miller had managed to break her husband over half a dozen years, until he had been ready to do anything for her. And by anything, John meant that he had killed three people for his wife - including her stepchild, his own daughter. The whole story probably wouldn't have come out, if Sherlock hadn't taken the case - only a four, when Lestrade first brought it to him - out of sheer boredom. He had dragged the pain, fear and horror of years of abuse to the light.

 

"Some of the other police offers believe that it's Miller's own fault for staying with his wife and that it is impossible to be under someone's spell like this." Sally nodded to a few of her colleagues in disgust and it reminded John of why he could have a civil conversation with the Sergeant by now. She had been one of few, who hadn't doubted that it was possible for a woman to abuse a man... and she had finally ceased to call Sherlock a freak. John wasn't exactly sure what carried more weight for him. It was probably a mix of both - a proof that Sally shed a lot of her own prejudices, since Sherlock had returned from the dead.

 

"It's not his fault that she twisted their relationship like this. She used his dependence on her to her own advantage. If she had been a decent human being, she would have done everything in her power to keep their relationship a healthy one, instead of chaining him to her like this." John rarely defended a murderer - and despite everything, the fact remained that Miller had killed three people - but in this case, it wasn't as black and white as he would have liked.

 

"It will be a long court case," Sally muttered in reply. "Psychological consultants, cold facts, the testimonies of everyone who knew the couple and not to speak of Miller who is still in denial about the abuse he has suffered." 

 

John cringed at that. He had seen enough victims of domestic violence to know that it could take a lot for them to admit to themselves that they had been abused by their own spouses. He was truly glad that the case would be over for Sherlock and him, once they had given their statements. Speaking of Sherlock, the consulting detective had just finished his consultation with the two men and was heading their way. 

 

"You know," Sally started, when John was just about to take his leave. "At first I was doubtful of your relationship with him as well, when I realised that you two were really a couple. I thought that he would certainly manipulate you like this woman did, but," Sally hurried on, before John could interrupt her with an angry retort. "I don't think he is a psychopath anymore and... you are really the one in charge in this relationship, Doctor Watson."

 

Before he could question how she came to this conclusion, Sherlock reached them and John bid Sally a hasty goodbye, before it could come to insults between the two. He just needed a peaceful evening with Sherlock and then he could start to forget about this horrible case... or so he thought.

 

OOO

 

"Sherlock! Dinner in ten!"

 

"Not hungry!"

 

John sighed loudly, but forced himself to stir the spicy cheese sauce \- Mrs. Hudson's special recipe - one more time and turned the heat off, before he ventured into the living-room, where Sherlock posed on the couch. Really, there was no other word for how Sherlock was sprawled across the piece of furniture. It reminded John of the paintings of Roman patricians, although he doubted that he had ever seen one that pouted just the way Sherlock did. It would be adorable, if John hadn't spent the last two hours in the kitchen, trying to get the sauce and the risotto just right... because Sherlock had looked interested, when Mrs. Hudson had mentioned her special sauce and John had been desperate. Desperate to get his brilliant boyfriend to eat more than a piece of toast and he wouldn't give up just yet.

 

Marching up to the couch, John glared down at Sherlock, who had the cheek to ignore him as he kept pouting at the ceiling.

 

"You haven't eaten in two days," John started and was met with an irritated huff. "Really John, if you have the need to monitor me, please do so correctly. I had an apple and a toast this morning."

 

"You had a slice of apple and a bite of toast this morning," John shot back and Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "Details."

 

"Yes, details. The small pieces of information that you are always on about when it's about a case."

 

"But this isn't a case, John." Sherlock turned onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head. "It would be great if it was a case. At least better than this." Blue-grey eyes flickered over the chaos in the living-room and John groaned inwardly as he finally understood what the matter was with his boyfriend. Really, he should have seen it sooner, especially as it had been three days since they had solved their last case and it was to be expected that Sherlock... was bored. Yes, it was as simple as that - or not so simple when it came to a brilliant detective - and yet, John hadn't seen the signs, until now. Overworked, his mind supplied him with an excuse as he had been forced to work a double-shift, right after they had come back from the last crime scene. It was as good an excuse as any and yet it didn't solve the problem of the sulking detective - Sherlock would fume at this wording.

 

"You promised me to eat something, when you don't have any cases on," John tried patiently, but Sherlock only sneered at that. "As we already established, I have eaten something today."

 

"And it's not enough to fuel your body for more than a few minutes, let alone for a whole day." Sometimes, John felt like he was discussing with a five year old, only that he presumed it was easier to get a child to eat something if they were hungry than to even get a bite into this stubborn man.

 

"Please, just because your body constantly needs to digest food and..."

 

"You're human, Sherlock, not an alternative life form that turns dust into energy. No," John added harshly, when Sherlock opened his mouth, probably to tell him how stupid his example was. "Listen to me! You have barely eaten during the case - just enough to prevent a collapse - and you haven't had anything that counted as a complete meal, since we went to the Chinese restaurant afterwards. I know that you have gone longer without food - and you know what I think of that - but two days without eating is long enough. You don't want to be half-starved if an interesting case comes in." It was a mix of logic arguments and his commanding voice and John deflated inwardly, when Sherlock still didn't show any sign of getting up anytime soon. 

 

"As if there are any interesting cases anymore. They are all boring. It's as if all the criminals have lost their touch. Sometimes, I wish..."

 

"What?!" John snapped, tired by the argument and triggered by Sherlock's words. "If you enjoyed Moriarty's games so much, why didn't you elope with him? You could have seen the world burn... wasn't this what he promised you? I'm sure that you wouldn't be as bored with him as you are obviously with me and..."

 

"John!" Wide blue eyes stared at him in shock and snapped him out of his rant, as Sherlock unfolded his legs and scrambled up from the couch. "I don't... I never wished for Moriarty to come back. I'm glad that he is dead and that his network is destroyed. I don't... I wouldn't have left you for two years if..."

 

"It's fine." John shook his head, disgusted by himself for how easily he had ripped open old wounds, judging by the look of raw despair in Sherlock's eyes. Christ, they had had this conversation numerous times, after Sherlock had returned from the dead. There had been tears and angry insults, loud arguments and crashed crockery, but in the end they had mended their friendship. It had taken time, but they had worked through all their feelings - mostly disappointment, betrayal and anger on John's side - and had emerged on the other side as lovers. All was fine - better than fine actually - and John had forgiven his friend for the two years of anguish and grief, therefore it was more than unfair to accuse him of wishing for a criminal like Moriarty. Sherlock loved interesting crimes, but that didn't mean that he wanted to play a deadly game with a criminal mastermind once more and John... he was tired...

 

"Your words scared me. It reminded me of how fascinated you were by Moriarty at first and... I'm sorry, I don't believe that you wish for him to come back and I... I'm glad - more than glad - that we are together."

 

Blue eyes melted at John's words and their owner leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, before he marched in the direction of the kitchen. "I'm also glad that we are together... I doubt that Moriarty would have prepared risotto with spicy cheese sauce for me."

 

It was one of Sherlock's ways to apologize and although John didn't think that his boyfriend owed him anything - his words had been far more hurtful than Sherlock's - he accepted it quietly, as long as it meant that his friend was going to eat something.

 

"Mrs. Hudson also wouldn't have given him the recipe," John joked as he joined Sherlock in the kitchen and they both chuckled inappropriately over their steaming dishes.

 

John smiled quietly as he watched how Sherlock wolfed down the risotto and made a note to find his friend something interesting to experiment on for tomorrow, to prevent their latest argument from repeating itself in one form or another. At least an experimenting Sherlock wasn't as easily annoyed as a bored one.

 

OOO

 

"You're naked"

 

"And you are stating the obvious," Sherlock muttered in reply, his eyes glued to the microscope. "Next you will state that I'm still wet."

 

John opened his mouth and then closed it again, when he realised that his boyfriend was in fact... wet. His hairs lay in wet curls against his neck and drops of water were running down Sherlock's back, until they vanished in the cleft of his arse cheeks.

 

A familiar stirring in his pants reminded John just how long it had been, since he had gotten the chance to lay hands on Sherlock's plush arse. Between the last case, his boyfriend's sulk and John's work at the clinic, they had only gotten a few kisses in. Not that John thought of their sex life as lacking - it certainly wasn't - but sometimes he wished that they could take more time to pleasure each other. A few hours - or even a whole day - spent in bed - making love, cuddling and dosing - certainly sounded like a good idea.

John's eyes flickered to his watch. It was four at a Saturday afternoon. He wasn't due for another shift at the clinic, until Monday afternoon and Sherlock didn't have any cases on, therefore... it was certainly worth a try.

 

A grin pulled John's lips apart as he leaned over Sherlock's shoulder and rubbed his nose against his lover's neck, while his left hand sneaked to an already hard nipple. "Aren't you getting cold?" John breathed against wet curls and licked an inviting earlobe for good measure. A shudder ran through the lean body and John smirked as he rubbed his index finger over Sherlock's nipple. "I don't want you to catch pneumonia." 

 

"You as a doctor should know that it's impossible to catch pneumonia from mere exposure to the cold." 

 

John nodded the hitch in his boyfriend's voice, even when he tried to sound aloof and he placed his other hand on Sherlock's thigh. "You're right of course, but being cold means that your body has to bring energy up to warm you and this energy can't be used for your immune system anymore, which makes all the little bacteria really happy." 

 

John chuckled, when Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance at his flawed - and not really scientific - explanation. "I could warm you up a little, so that you don't get sick." John was well aware that his words sounded like they were taken from a porno, but that was part of the fun. It wasn't intended as a role play game - John wasn't really into this kind of thing, he never managed to stay in character - but the uninspired texts always got an amused laugh out of Sherlock.

 

It was the same this time, when his boyfriend turned his head away from the microscope and focused on John. "So, you want me to interrupt my time sensitive experiment on the growth of spore fungus - for which I ran out of the shower without toweling off - in order to have sex with you?"

 

John cocked his head to the side as if thinking it over and then shut it quickly. "No, I want you to interrupt your experiment, so that I can take you to the bedroom and take you apart, until you have forgotten everything about your experiment." 

 

Interest sparked in blue eyes - and in other parts of Sherlock's anatomy - when John's fingers stroked the inside of his thigh and brushed his balls - by complete accident of course. "I have only gotten twenty minutes, until the next stage of the experiment needs to start."

 

John frowned slightly as he fought a lightning war with his conscience, which he won easily, when his eyes fell on the half hard flesh of his lover. "Twenty minutes should be sufficient," he whispered in as low a voice as possible and dragged Sherlock to his feet and in the direction of the bedroom. He saw it as a challenge to make his brilliant boyfriend lose track of time and exchange all thoughts of spore fungi with pleasure fueled images.

 

OOO

 

"You're so beautiful," John whispered reverently as he took in the amazing creature that was his boyfriend. Sherlock was spread out on his stomach, before John's worshipping eyes. His pale skin was flushed with heat and pleasure. Sweat had replaced the water drops on his neck and his cock had long since exceeded half hard. It was definitely as hard and flush as it could get as it hung heavily between Sherlock's thighs - probably still wet from John's tongue.

 

A shiver ran down John's spine and he caught himself just in time to stop the motion of his hand that had wandered towards his own cock. As satisfying as it would be to come all over Sherlock's arse and back, he had something else in mind - and he doubted that even his boyfriend had yet figured out what it was.

 

"John," Sherlock growled impatiently and wriggled his arse at him. No, he definitely hadn't figured it completely out, when he believed that John was going to take him, although he had plans for Sherlock's arse.

 

Giving in to Sherlock's plea - his boyfriend would certainly call it a command - John grabbed the presented arse cheeks. He was always surprised at how it was possible for them to be plush and hard at the same time. It certainly felt amazing to just knead the flesh with his fingers... and listen to his lover's elaborated breathing at the same time.

 

"John," Sherlock pressed out once more - one of the few words his boyfriend could speak while in the middle of sex - and John chuckled quietly as he parted round cheeks and blew between them. A keening sound escaped his lover and John wondered how many varying noises he could get out of Sherlock as he pressed open mouth kisses on soft skin, before licking a wet trail from Sherlock's tailbone to his hole and back up again.

 

"God... John... please!" And there his lover had once told a dominatrix that he never begged, John thought with satisfaction. The memory of Irene Adler cooled his own arousal and gave John the patience to have his wicked way with the inviting arse of his lover.

 

Some people thought it unsanitary to push one's tongue into someone else's arse or to suck on the flesh that surrounded said hole, but John certainly wasn't one of them. For one thing, Sherlock was almost pedantic when it came to his hygiene and for the other part... he just loved rimming too much to give up on it. The musky, heavy scent that went straight to his cock, when he buried his nose between Sherlock's cheeks. The velvet skin between his lips. The thrill of doing something almost forbidden and dirty. And of course the way he reduced his lover to a whimpering, begging wreck, whenever he twisted his tongue inside him. Yes, John definitely loved all of it.

"God, John... I..." John withdrew his tongue and let go of flushed cheeks - which would bear the imprint of his fingertips the next day - as he could tell that Sherlock was close to the edge. Very close, if his desperate moan was anything to go by.

 

"Patience, dear, I have something in mind, you will like. Can you wait so long?" John waited for Sherlock to nod, before he reached for the items he had deposited at the foot of the bed, when they had first entered the bedroom. If Sherlock had been desperate for an orgasm, John would have left them for another day, but as it was, he got to live out one of his fantasies.  
John opened the lube and squeezed a healthy amount on his fingers, before he stroked between Sherlock's cheeks. The muscles around his hole were already relaxed and wet, it wouldn't take much to get him ready for what John had in mind. He pushed one finger into his lover's tight heat and was rewarded with a happy sigh and a wriggling of a sexy arse as he pushed deeper. He took enough time to spread the lube generously and widen his lover slightly, before he withdraw once more.

 

"John," Sherlock's unsure voice sounded after a minute without activity - at least without any he could notice in his position. "I don't mind it a little rough, but we haven't had sex in quite some time and..."

 

"Shh," John pressed a kiss on Sherlock's right cheek and then reached for the second item and stroked it along a quivering thigh.

 

Sherlock stilled. 

 

"The small anal plug with vibrating function." It was a breathless whisper and John hummed in confirmation. "Yes, do you want to have it in you, while I ride your cock?" John was damn sure that Sherlock was up for it, but he wouldn't push anything up his lover's arse without getting verbal consent first.

 

"Yes." Sherlock's voice was at least an octave lower than usual. "Please, that sounds... God, yes."

 

A quiet smile turned John's lips up. "Relax," he ordered and lubed the plug up, before he slowly pushed it inside his lover. It was small - smaller than your usual anal plug - but they had bought it, because it wasn't necessary to hold it all the time like you had to do with a vibrator and... it came with a remote.

 

When John was sure that the plug sat snuggly inside Sherlock, he pressed the button to start the vibration. It's vibrations would increase every two minutes - this setting had certainly been a selling point - and John wondered to which level they would get, before they both came.

 

"Oh, that's..." Sherlock wriggled his arse in delight and John chuckled quietly, before he pushed lightly against his lover's hip. "Turn on your back."

 

A shudder of anticipation went through Sherlock's body as he did as he had been told and John had to grab the base of his shaft hard to prevent himself from coming right then and there. God, but Sherlock was sexy as hell. His chest was flushed with heat and glistening with transpiration. Dark curls were fanned out on the pillow and his face... Christ, John could spend hours describing the flush on these sharp cheekbones, the slightly parted - kiss swollen - lips and the abnormally dilated pupils, but he really didn't want to wait so long.

 

He grabbed the condom - the last item that hadn't been put to good use on the bed - and made short process of tearing the packet open and rolling it on Sherlock's cock. He added a generous amount of lube to it and then positioned himself above Sherlock's lap. Just when he was about to lower himself on his lover, strong hands grabbed his hips and stopped him.

 

"What...?" John started. He had been sure that Sherlock had wanted this - he had confirmed it after all - but if he had changed his mind, it was fine as well. Not optimal, but they could still find release in a different way. John was just about to suggest something else, when Sherlock beat him to it. "You... I haven't prepared you. There is enough lube, but..."

 

John's eyes softened at Sherlock's worried tone and he leaned forward to steal a kiss from tender lips. "Don't worry, I prepared myself, when I fingered you as well. I'm more than ready for you."

 

"What are you waiting for then?!"

 

John laughed at Sherlock's impatient tone and refrained from reminding him, who had interrupted their lovemaking, instead he gripped his lover's cock in a steady hand and sank slowly down on him.

 

"Yesss!" John sighed happily as his lover's length stretched him. He loved this feeling. The feeling of being filled. The slight burn, when his body stretched to allow part of Sherlock inside him. The look of utter pleasure on Sherlock's face, when his mouth dropped open as he sank into John.

 

"Move!" Sherlock commanded breathlessly after several heartbeats had gone by and John was all too happy to oblige. He didn't bother with going slow as he leaned forwards to capture Sherlock's lips in a bruising kiss, while he rode his lover's cock with abandon. He had held himself back the whole time he had pleasured Sherlock and now he just wanted to come... and to feel Sherlock come as well.

 

"John... Oh God... Yes!" Sherlock cursed as he panted against John's neck, his fingers digging into John's hips as he bucked up into his lover, hitting his prostate every second thrust or so and John... He was close, so fucking close and...

 

Sherlock moaned and gasped as he increased his speed - just like the plug had increased its vibrations, John suspected - and John knew that his lover was close as well. They both were and a few more well placed thrusts latter, it was over. John couldn't say who came first - he was too far gone by then - but he felt his orgasm crash over him as he came all over lover's chest and Sherlock pressed up into him as he tumbled over the edge as well.

 

They stayed like this - sweaty and intertwined - for some time, until Sherlock started to squirm under John. "Too much... the vibrator... John."

 

John nodded against Sherlock's chest and then got up from his lover to find the remote and turn the vibrations off. While he was at it - and while Sherlock was still relaxed - he also took the plug out and then sat back on the bed to grin at his completely exhausted lover.

 

"Come here," Sherlock murmured and John was all too happy to oblige as he snuggled up against his lover. They would need to change the sheets and clean the toy later - and also have a shower - but right now cuddling was right on top of John's priority list.

 

OOO

 

John must have dosed off as he blinked in surprise, when Sherlock suddenly sat up with a sigh. "So much to my fungi," he muttered and John giggled, as his lover untangled their legs to get up.

 

"Do you mind?" Sherlock gestured to the kitchen and John shook his head. "No, go ahead. I will clean our mess up and then order take away."

 

"Thai," Sherlock ordered and then hurried to the kitchen, in all his naked glory. John looked after him with a soft smile, before he closed his eyes once more.

 

"She told me that it started small at first - telling him when and what to eat, ordering him around in general, taking her anger out on him by slapping him or throwing things at him or... commanding him into her bed..."

 

John frowned as the memory of his conversation with Sally ghosted through his mind. Really, why would he think of that, when... He sat up suddenly, his heart racing as he stared at the mess on their bed, without really seeing it as images flew through his mind. Images of Sherlock and him. Memories of John ordering Sherlock to eat something and nagging him until he complied. Screenshots of every time, John had shaken Sherlock in anger, when his boyfriend had done something extremely stupid. A list of all the times, when John had seduced Sherlock to come to bed with him, although his boyfriend had been otherwise engaged. Dear God...

 

John stared at his hands. They were shaking. In fact, his whole body was shaking as the realisation hit him: He was abusing his power over Sherlock. Manipulating him to do things, he didn't want to do, with the excuse that his boyfriend needed someone to look after him.

 

"Oh fuck!"

 

John stared in the direction of the kitchen, where Sherlock certainly tried to safe his experiment... after John had ruined it. He had promised Sherlock a quickie and instead they had been in bed for almost two hours... and he had planned it. He had planned to have a lazy afternoon of lovemaking with his lover, without asking for Sherlock's opinion. No matter that his boyfriend had obviously enjoyed himself immensely, but it was still not right of John. He shouldn't manipulate Sherlock like this. He loved him and he knew that his lover sometimes depended more on him than he would admit to anyone and therefore...

 

"Calm the fuck down, Watson!" John took a few deep breaths and then went to do as he had said - cleaning up the mess they had made. When the sheets were replaced and the toy cleaned, John's head had cleared enough to allow him to come to a solution for the problem. He would just stop. Stop nagging Sherlock about his eating and sleeping habits. Stop commanding him around and scolding him like a small child, when he insulted the whole of Scotland Yard again. Stop ruining his experiments, when John's libido got the better of him.  
Yes, he would make sure that their relationship didn't become unhealthy.

 

John nodded to himself - proud that he had seen their problem, before it was too late - and went in search of his phone to order Thai.


	2. The Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second and final chapter of this story and I even managed to get it posted in time. Enjoy it and let me know what you think. :)

### The Solution

"Do you want anything for dinner, today?"

 

Sherlock looked up from his medical journal - technically, it was John's - and considered the question. He didn't have any cases on and his body had already expressed its desire for food a couple of hours ago - and rather loudly though. Besides, he had a sudden craving for the spicy cheese sauce, John had prepared a few days ago. Therefore, the only logical reply to this question was: "No."

 

Sherlock's eyes flickered to John - who leaned in the doorway to the kitchen - and waited for his exasperated sigh. It usually was the prelude for a discussion about the merits of food and why Sherlock should take more care of his body. Against everyone's notion, Sherlock loved this discussions - most of the time. It was always a challenge to guess which tactic his boyfriend would use this time to get him to eat something. Sometimes, he would try to bribe Sherlock with an extra space in the fridge for served body parts and other times he would call him an idiot and threaten to convince Mycroft that his brother had an eating disorder. Sherlock smiled inwardly at the memory of this fight. It had been quite a lot of fun to list all the arguments that spoke against him having any kind of an eating disorder... and then wolfing down two plates of pasta.

 

Besides - and Sherlock wouldn't admit this lightly to anyone - John's nagging showed how much he cared for him. Sometimes, it was annoying, but most of the time it gave Sherlock the feeling that he wasn't just a brilliant genius - no he was modest - but that there was more to him than just his mind. It had taken him some time to accept that John truly and honestly cared for him and didn't just want to control him - like Mycroft or Mummy. And when Sherlock had realised it... he had fallen in love. Hard. John was unique in the way he treated Sherlock - with affection and care, instead of scorn and impatience - and he loved him for it. For this and the fact that John was just... John. He was ordinary and unique at once, a quiet force in a wooly jumper and...

 

"Alright, I will just go to the pub then and grab something, there. If you change your mind... you know how to get something to eat."

 

Sherlock almost fell from the couch at this as he sat up abruptly and stared after John as he gathered his wallet, keys, phone and jacket and left the flat.

 

He blinked. Was this some new tactic to get him to eat something? No, Sherlock answered his own question with a shake of his head. It was clear that John didn't intend to come back with take-away an hour later. He was really going to the pub to have a couple of pints and something to eat, the questions was: Why?

 

Sherlock lay back on the couch and steepled his fingers under his chin. John only went to the pub, when he was either going to meet up with some friends - Lestrade, Stamford or sometimes some people from the clinic - or when he was very angry. Both options were out of the questions, as a) John's decision to go to the pub had been spontaneous, therefore he hadn't set up a meeting and b) he wasn't angry. No, Sherlock knew the signs - could spot them from a hundred feet away - and he was damn sure that John hadn't been angry in the slightest, when he had left the flat. So, what other options did that leave, considering that John usually didn't leave Sherlock to his own devices, when he hadn't eaten anything for a whole day, in the absence of a case? Maybe, as strange as it sounded, John had just experienced a sudden craving for some pub food - did they have special meal offerings on certain days? - and had wanted to go to the pub, before the kitchen closed. It was certainly a logic possibility, but...

 

A quiet sigh escaped Sherlock's lips as he got up from the couch and went in search of his phone to order something from Angelo - the Italian delivered exclusively for him - and decided that it wouldn't do him any good to dwell on the issue for much longer. John might not have realised just how long Sherlock had gotten without food and that was why he hadn't nagged him about eating something. It was a single incident after all - far away from being a pattern - and Sherlock could really do with some quiet time to work on his newest composition. The next time, he would just ask John for the spicy cheese sauce dish and then they would go back to their very own version of normal. This evening was merely an exception to the rule.

 

OOO

 

"What are you doing, Sweetheart?" 

 

Sherlock smiled at the endearment, while his eyes flickered over John's approaching form. He only wore pants and a loose shirt - no socks. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower and his face was freshly shaven, although he didn't plan on going out again until tomorrow afternoon. Adding to these observations the cheeky gleam in his eyes and the almost predatory smile, there was only one possible conclusion: John wanted to ravish him. A languorous shudder ran through Sherlock's body, when John's tongue darted out to wet his lips.

 

When they had first started their relationship, he had been surprised at how much fun he had when he had sex with John. It went against all his experiences that sleeping with the same person for any significant amount of time didn't become boring until he had realised that he loved John. That John was different from his adventures at university or even the few affairs, Sherlock had entertained before he had met the army doctor, simply because John touched more than Sherlock's skin - as pathetic and unscientific as that sounded - when they made love. And that was the other difference, Sherlock admitted with an inwardly smile as he leaned back against the couch cushions, that they made love. No matter if they settled for quick and rough, slow and gentle or any combination of these parameters, John always gave Sherlock the feeling that he was loved, that what they did was something special. Something that belonged to just the two of them. And it was one reason, why Sherlock allowed John to seduce him away from his experiments - or his reading material - because his boyfriend always had something special in mind on these occasions. Of course, if an experiment was truly important - a breakthrough for science or for a case - then John wouldn't be successful with his advances, but Sherlock didn't mind interrupting something minor for a few special moments with his lover.

 

"I'm waiting for a documentary on bees to start." Sherlock pointed at the muted television, where an advertisement for the documentary was just shown.

 

A soft smile ghosted around the corner of John's mouth. "You and your bees," he murmured fondly and Sherlock returned his smile. Other than his brother - or really everyone else - John hadn't belittled him for his fascination of bees. In fact, after Sherlock had given him an hour long speech about bees John had gone out and gotten him a beginners guide for bee-keeping and... a plush bee. Sherlock couldn't recall the last time, someone had been so... kind to him.

 

"When does the documentary start?"

 

Sherlock threw a glance at the clock. "In about twenty minutes."

 

"And you really don't want to miss it, right?"

 

Sherlock cocked his head to the side at this question. It didn't sound as seductive as he had expected, but maybe that was just his imagination. Besides, John should be aware that it was possible in this day and age to watch the documentary online. Therefore, the question was probably part of John's little games: Promising Sherlock a quickie and then giving him long hours of slow lovemaking and cuddling. He was all too happy to play along. "It would be an inconvenience to miss it, especially as the researchers appear to be extremely competent for a change."

 

"Alright, then," John took off his clothes and straddled Sherlock, where he was sprawled out on the couch. "Are you up for some quick fun?"

 

Sherlock blinked slowly - they had never done it on the couch before - but then nodded. He couldn't deduce what John had in mind this time, but he was certain that he was going to like it. "Yes, I would like that."

 

Obviously this was all the confirmation John needed, as he leaned forward and claimed Sherlock's lips in a bruising kiss. His hands made short work of both their clothes - a dressing gown and pants in Sherlock's case - and then naked skin was pressed against naked skin. A moan slipped past Sherlock's lips when John started to move his hips rhythmically and their cocks brushed together every so often until they were both hard and leaking... and making a total mess of the couch.

 

"You're so hot," John breathed into his mouth and then he was gone. No, not gone exactly, but he had moved down on Sherlock's body, slung one leg offer his shoulder - the other one was pushed off the couch - and... Sherlock had to stifle his scream against the cushions, as John's lips suddenly surrounded him, while skilled fingers massaged his perineum and balls at the same time. If one had asked Sherlock now who was in charge in the bedroom, the answer would have been clear. His whole body - including his brain, his complete intellect - was focused on the point between his legs, where John was working his miracle. Sherlock couldn't stop himself from thrusting up into the wet heat that was John's mouth, when the pressure in his balls intensified and more blood rushed between his legs as his climax drew closer with every second.

 

"John," Sherlock tried to warn his boyfriend, before the world behind his eyelids exploded and he came in crashing waves, until he sank back into the cushions with an exhausted sigh.  
He barely managed to peel his eyes open, when he felt movement between his legs, but when he did, Sherlock was rewarded with the sigh of John wanking over him, with a look of utter abandon on his face. It didn't take long - sadly - until his boyfriend groaned and his semen spurted all over Sherlock's chest and abdomen.

 

For some time, the only sound in the room was their harsh breathing and Sherlock waited for John to collapse on him and to snuggle up against him on the couch - or to suggest that they share a bath - but his boyfriend did neither. Instead he threw a glance at the clock, grinned and then gestured to the mess on Sherlock's body. "I will get you a flannel and a nice hot cup of tea. You go ahead and watch your documentary."

 

The whole speech was delivered, without any heat - without any indication that John was angry with Sherlock - but it still felt wrong. The whole incident felt terrible wrong, when Sherlock was honest with himself while semen dried on his chest hair. For one thing, John didn't want to have sex on the couch, because it wasn't as comfortable - and private - as their bed and he also always went for a cuddle afterwards - if they weren't in a hurry. And besides, Sherlock had been certain that John had had more in mind than a hurried blowjob - although it had been a fantastic one - and a wank, when he had first approached Sherlock. So, why hadn't he gone for it?

 

Sherlock absently accepted the flannel and the steaming mug and then narrowed his eyes, when John turned up the volume of the TV, before he went back into the kitchen. Could it be that John had assumed that the bee documentary was more important than sex to Sherlock? In light of recent events, it sounded like the only logical explanation, although Sherlock couldn't say how John had come to this conclusion. After all, if it had been so important to him, Sherlock would have refused to have sex with John right away and John should know that, right?

 

The documentary started and Sherlock pushed the question aside for the time being and even managed to dismiss the lingering doubt in his mind, when he smelled the first traces of spicy cheese sauce. John had only wanted a quick shag before starting on Sherlock's new favorite dish, it was fine. It was all fine.

 

OOO

 

Nothing was fine. Nothing!

 

Sherlock grabbed at his already messy curls and tore at the strands, until his eyes watered from the sharp pain. And it was only from the pain and nothing else, Sherlock thought as he wiped his eyes and nose furiously. After all, there was no reason to cry... or there wouldn't be one if he had been smart enough to prepare himself for this moment. The moment, when John would finally grow tired of Sherlock and stop caring for him altogether. Really, it had been stupid of Sherlock to assume... that their relationship would last. So stupid, when all the facts - every past experience with a lover - should prove that no one wanted to commit themselves to Sherlock for a considerable amount of time. Just because John had lasted longer than most - fourteen months of a romantic relationship and almost five years of friendship, including Sherlock's time away - didn't mean that he would stay at Sherlock's side forever.

 

Stupid... completely sentimental to assume such things. Sherlock could already hear Mycroft's sneer, when he heard of the news, although at least Sherlock had learned of the truth sooner than his dear brother this time. It should count for something that Mycroft hadn't seen the end of Sherlock's relationship with John from months away - otherwise he would have warned his brother. But in all honesty, Sherlock didn't care when or how his brother learned of it. He didn't care what the officers of Scotland Yard would say about it - Donovan might even be sympatric. He just... he didn't want it to end.

 

A dry sob was torn from Sherlock's lips as he waded through the broken glass on the kitchen floor - something pierced his feet, but he ignored it - and stumbled to his armchair. He knew that he should come up with a plan to keep John around for longer and that nothing was completely lost until his boyfriend found the courage to officially end things with Sherlock, but... he couldn't. He was only capable of replaying the events of the past few hours - and the days that before that had led to this - over and over again in his head.

 

"You can go back to your experiment now. I think you even still have time for a quick shower." 

John's smile didn't reach his eyes, but before Sherlock could say anything, his lover had already vanished in the direction of their bedroom. Going to change his clothes, his mind supplied helpfully, as Sherlock kept staring after him. This had been the eighth time in seventeen days that John had initiated a sexual encounter that didn't count as more than a quickie.

In fact if Sherlock hadn't paid attention, he couldn't have said how long it had been, since they had made love - slowly and passionately - for the last time, because these last encounters weren't more than a quick fuck. They didn't evoke any feelings in Sherlock - except for the bio-chemical reactions - because the most essential part of their sex life was missing. The intimacy. No matter how fantastic John's blowjobs were or how thrilling it was for Sherlock to be fucked over the armrest of the couch - or to do the fucking like today - the experience couldn't live up to hours of lovemaking and cuddling. It wasn't that Sherlock minded their quickies in the living-room - they were thrilling and physically satisfying - but they didn't give him the feelings of security and being enfolded in love like the times when John had covered his whole body with kisses and told him how extraordinary he was. Sherlock missed these times and he didn't know how to bring them back. Obviously, John was only interested in quick and dirty these days and Sherlock feared rejection if he were to initiated something more romantic. After all, John had even stopped placing kisses on Sherlock's forehead, while he was working or reading - which he had always accepted grumbling, but with an inward smile - and he also didn't touch him anymore - if it wasn't necessary. That wasn't to mean that John had grabbed Sherlock's arse in public or pinched his nipples, but that he had ruffled his curls, clasped his shoulder or stroked his cheek and...

Sherlock took a shaking breath and wrapped his dressing gown back around himself before he sat down at the kitchen table and pretended to be engrossed in his experiment when he heard the crack of the door to the bedroom. He knew that John's behavior was amiss - not just in relation to their sex lives - but he needed more data - and time to think - before he felt comfortable confronting his boyfriend about it. He would start his first experiment tomorrow.

OOO

"Sherlock, you need to eat something."

For a blissful second, Sherlock smiled at the well-known plea until his mind informed him that this wasn't John's voice. He blinked his eyes open - his head felt as foggy as if it had been hit by a baseball bat - and focused on Mrs. Hudson's worried face that floated above him.

"John told me I shouldn't bother you, but you haven't eaten anything in eight days. Don't deny it, I have inspected your fridge every day!"

Sherlock grunted noncommittal and struggled in a sitting position, as the scent of homemade chicken soup flooded his nostrils. The world blurred before his eyes, but he managed to get up,, without passing out and reached with a trembling hand for the bowl and spoon.

"Really, Sherlock, you can't just go without eating for so long," Mrs. Hudson scolded him again, when he had managed to finish the whole bowl of soup and declined the offer of another helping. He had to allow his body to slowly adjust to food once more, if he didn't want to provoke an unwanted reaction from it. Another bowl of soup in the evening and some bread, then toast with butter for breakfast and so on, until Sherlock was back to his old constitution.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." The old woman nodded at him and patted his shoulder before she stored the remaining soup in the fridge.

"You had us really worried, young man. Don't ever frighten us like this again!"

Sherlock smiled sadly at his trembling hands and waited until Mrs. Hudson had left the flat before he allowed his smile to fade completely. He hadn't eaten anything for ten days - Mrs. Hudson hadn't noticed the first couple of days - and only lived from very sweet tea and water. The goal of the experiment had been to see how long it would take John to realise that Sherlock didn't eat and wasn't planning on eating anything in the near future and how long it would take him from then to try to get some food into him. The answer to the first questions was 32 hours. Then John had realised that Sherlock wouldn't eat anything - not even his favorite dish. The answer to the second question... never.

Sherlock's hand shook as he carded it through his messy curls. John hadn't tried to get him to eat. He had merely asked Sherlock if he should prepare something for him, when he had been cooking and then had left it at that. Hell, John hadn't even prepared some extras for Sherlock and stored them in the fridge, in the hopes of getting him to eat when no one was looking. This plan had been successful more than once in the past, Sherlock admitted grudgingly. Nothing this time. Not even the expression of doctoral concern for his well-being, when Sherlock had crossed the three days mark without food.

Blue eyes fixed the skull on the mantelpiece with a lost look as the realisation dawned that John obviously didn't care for him anymore. Neither as a lover nor as a friend and obviously not even as a human being. Sherlock took a shaking breath and clenched his hands into fists in his lap. One more experiment to verify his hypothesis and then... he didn't know.

OOO

"Christ, Sherlock what did you do?"

John's eyes flickered over the shards of glass and chinaware, the remains of the destroyed kettle and the pieces of the toaster, on the floor of the kitchen.

"Did an experiment go wrong or...?"

"No," Sherlock leaned casually back against the kitchen counter. "I was bored."

"Bored?" John repeated and an edge of steel entered his voice as he took a step towards Sherlock. "You destroyed almost everything, because you were bored?!"

"Please John, I hardly destroyed everything. Not even everything in the kitchen. The stove still works." 

He smiled innocently at his boyfriend and waited for the explosion. Certainly, such a provocation had to lead to something. In the past, John had shouted and ranted at Sherlock for less - dripping fingers in the fridge or an exploded microwave for example - and sometimes even grabbed his shoulders to give him a shake before he forced him to help him clean up the mess. Sometimes, John had been angry with Sherlock for a few days and some other times, they had fantastic make up sex and spent the following day in bed.

Sherlock truly hoped for the latter, but he could endure the former as well. In fact, he could endure anything as long as it mean that he got a reaction from John. Anything that wasn't such a washed down version of his usual affections for Sherlock. Maybe, his boyfriend had just needed a reason to let off some steam - it was in the realm of possibilities that Sherlock had upset John without noticing - and then they could go back to normal. 

Sherlock held onto this hope, until John took a deep breath and visible pulled himself together, before he shrugged. "Fine. Now, you will have enough to do with cleaning up and buying new things to occupy you the next time you get bored." He marched through the mess in the kitchen and grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to the pub for a bit."

Sherlock's hope crumpled with the sound of the closing door, as he was left alone in the cold and empty flat.

 

Steps on the staircase tore Sherlock from his dark memories as he listened more closely to judge the state John was in. Slow, but secure steps on the stairs. No creaking railing, so no need to hold onto something to stabilize his balance. A pint, two at most, Sherlock concluded, because John's step became more uneven when he had had three pints and he always held onto the railing if he had had more than four. So, John wasn't drunk and theoretically still up for a conversation, the only question remaining was if Sherlock was up for it as well.

 

His eyes flickered to the front door and then in the direction of the bedroom. He could easily pretend to be asleep and postpone the conversation for a little while longer. Maybe, Sherlock would be lucky and John would snuggle up to him in the morning and... No, Sherlock took a deep breath and shook his head. He couldn't wait any longer as he needed to know where he stood. No matter how sure he was of the correctness of his observations and deductions, he needed to hear from John that it was over - that he didn't care for Sherlock anymore - and then... He didn't know, but it could barely be worse than John's disinterest in him.

 

The door opened and the light was switched on. Sherlock waited for John to hang up his jacket and make his way half-way through the living-room, until he coughed quietly and watched John jerk in surprise.

 

"Sherlock." John stepped up to his armchair, but didn't make a move to sit down, until Sherlock sighed in exasperation. "Sit down, John. We... need to talk."

 

Sherlock hadn't believed what an effect these words could have on someone, until he watched John gulp nervously and sit down in his armchair, fidgeting with his hands as he didn't have a cup of tea to hold on to. The sight of John's nervousness did nothing to calm Sherlock's own nerves as he steeled himself for the most painful conversation of his life... although he doubted that he would come out of it with his heart still in one piece. He had entrusted it to John after all.

 

OOO

 

John tried to remain calm under the scrutiny of piercing blue eyes, but failed spectacularly as his heart flattered nervously in his chest. He had known that the day would come when Sherlock would call him out on his behavior, although he had done everything in his power to stop patronizing his partner. Obviously though, his efforts hadn't been enough and Sherlock had finally grown sick of the inequality in their relationship. 

 

But this was good, John tried to reassure himself, because it meant that Sherlock wasn't under his spell. They could work things out like adults and then they would work together on achieving a healthy relationship, although... John really didn't know what else he should do to make it to this goal... or how much he could do without breaking. It had been hard enough to keep track of the time whenever he had engaged in sex with his lover for the past couple of weeks or so. His heart ached for more than for quick fucks, but he forbad himself to be so selfish as to put his own needs before Sherlock's. And his boyfriend didn't like to interrupt his experiments, therefore John had had to make do with blowjobs and fucks over the armrest of the couch, which were never enough as he always felt the urge to at least cuddle afterwards, but he couldn't. No, Sherlock needed to get back to his experiments - or his readings - and John didn't want his lover to just humor him. But maybe... maybe their conversation would still be about John's frequent requests for some kind of sex, as he had felt the need to indulge in physical activities more often since he had forbidden himself from interrupting Sherlock's work with any kind of intimacy. It had probably been too much for Sherlock or - John paled at the thought - his lover had figured out that he had begged Mrs. Hudson to bring up some soup, when Sherlock had starved himself. John hadn't known what to do - without nagging his boyfriend to eat - and when it hadn't looked like Sherlock would never eat again, he had run to Mrs. Hudson. After all, their landlady was like a mother to Sherlock and it was different to be nagged about eating by a motherly figure than by your lover, right? Still, it was entirely possible that Sherlock had taken offence at this manipulation. Or the conversation wouldn't be about any of this incidents, but about this evening.

 

John's eyes darted in the direction of the kitchen, which still look like a battlefield, after the artillery had been through with it. He didn't know what had gotten into Sherlock to destroy most of their kitchen equipment, but he was damn sure that his boyfriend had noticed that John had wanted nothing more than to shake Sherlock and scream at him until he could calm down. Of course, he hadn't done so, but Sherlock might still feel spooked by John's aggressive thoughts and...

 

"When were you going to tell me that it's over?" The question, brought forward in a tense voice, threw John for a loop.

 

He blinked and then shook his head. "Over? What's over?" Had he missed part of the conversation or had Sherlock held it in his Mind Palace once more?

 

"Don't play dumb, John, it doesn't suit you," Sherlock all but snarled, although his body language was in sharp contrast to his angry voice as he brought his legs up on the armchair and hugged them to his chest with his arms slung around them. "Our relationship. When did you plan on telling me that you want to break up with me?"

 

"Hold on!" John held up his hand as he tried to make sense of all this. Either this was some kind of social experiment - which would be cruel even for Sherlock's standards - or... he didn't know what was going on anymore. "What the hell are you talking about?! I don't want to break up with you."

 

"No?" The word dripped with sarcasm as Sherlock leaned forward and met John's eyes in a deathly glare. "So, you deny that you don't care about me anymore?"

 

"Of course! I mean, of course I care about you!" John stared in disbelief at his boyfriend. "How can you think for even one second that I..."

 

"Oh, let's see, shall we?" Sherlock directed the smile at him that was usually reserved for Anderson or for serial killers. John didn't like it one bit. "You don't comment on my eating and sleeping habits anymore. Obviously, you don't care anymore if I starve myself to death or keel over from lack of sleep. You never showed so much indifference to me - not even when we first moved in together - therefore I conclude that you have grown tired of me."

 

"No, wait, Sherlock..." John tried to interrupt - ready to explain his reasoning and to take away the hurt in these expressive blue eyes - but Sherlock was used to talking over anything and everyone. "Secondly, you only ever touch me anymore, when you want to have sex. No gentle kisses, caresses or there like and even the sex... it's only about getting off anymore. You can laugh at me, but I certainly enjoyed our hours spent in bed or in the bathtub. I liked that I was special enough for you to... take so much time." Sherlock closed his eyes as if in pain and John felt more and more like an utter bastard as he watched how his boyfriend tried to keep himself together, while hot tears prickled in his own eyes.

 

"And then," Sherlock started again, his voice strained to the breaking point. "You didn't even react to the chaos in the kitchen. I thought," Sherlock shrugged helplessly. "I thought I had done something wrong and you just needed a catalyst to get it out of your system, so that you would stop punishing me, but..."

 

"I'm not punishing you!" John interrupted - horrified by the implication - but his exclamation didn't vanish the despair from Sherlock's eyes. If possible they grew even more haunted as they held John's panicked gaze. "Yes, I see that now. You stopped to care and that's... Oh fuck!

 

John watched in horror as tears spilled over pale cheeks and his boyfriend averted his gaze in shame. Dear God, what had he done and more importantly... how was he going to fix this?! John swallowed hard as the realisation that he had somehow gone wrong about the whole situation sank in and he was left with a terrible mess. First things first, he decided when more time had ticked by, without Sherlock getting himself back under control - if anything the shaking of his proud shoulders had only become worse. Slowly, John got up from his armchair and moved to his boyfriend's side and slung an arm around his shoulder.

 

Sherlock flinched, the motion like a slap to John's face as his boyfriend moved away from the contact and yet leaned into it almost simultaneously. Really, what had John been thinking?! He should have spoken with his boyfriend about his worries, concerning their relationship, instead he had plugged ahead and... almost destroyed them in the process. At least, he hoped that it wasn't too late to fix it, because he wasn't sure that he would survive losing Sherlock again... and in such a manner nonetheless.

 

"Don't be cruel, John." Sherlock's voice was barely above a hoarse whisper and John hated himself for causing the love of his life so much pain.

 

He perched on the armrest of the chair and drew Sherlock closer, until his head leaned against John's chest. "I don't want to be cruel," he whispered, his heart breaking a little, when he took in the gaunt face of his lover. His skin was stretched thin over too prominent cheekbones - worse than after Sherlock had come back from his exile - and his complete face looked colorless. Exhausted. Drained. Defeated.

 

A fain tremor ran through John's body as he dared to caress dark curls and to press a soft kiss to his lover's forehead. A dry sob was the reply to his actions and John knew that he had to tell Sherlock... everything, starting with the case and ending with his changed behavior over the last few weeks. Even if Sherlock would call him an idiot every day from now on, John could live with that, but he couldn't live without this brilliant man.

 

"You remember the case with Mr. and Mrs. Miller?" The question made Sherlock furrow his brown, but he nodded and John continued. "Sally told me that the abuse started slowly. That Mrs. Miller told her husband what to eat and when to sleep, ordered him in her bed and things like this. I thought... that their relationship was too similar to ours."

 

Now, he had Sherlock's undivided attention as he sat up abruptly and turned sideways to look at John in disbelief. "How is an abusive relationship like this similar to ours? I mean... I know that I sometimes don't pay attention to you when I work and I always demand of you to fetch my things and I ridicule your intellect and... Oh!"

 

"No, Sherlock!" John shook his head in shock, when his lover arrived at the complete wrong conclusion. "You aren't using or abusing me. I know you by now and I don't mind doing all these things for you and if I do... Well, I complain very loudly."

 

Dark curls bobbed up and down as blue eyes - still red rimmed, but focused - fixed John with a desperate look. "But, if that's true, then how do you come to think that our relationship is... unhealthy. And what does it have to do with your behavior lately?"

 

John's shoulders slumped as he sighed in defeat. "I always tell you to eat and sleep. I seduce you away from your experiments and when I get angry at you, I yell at you and I... even got physical a few times. If that's not abuse or at least manipulation of the worst kind, then..."

 

"John, stop!" The voice was still hoarse, but the underlying emotions had made room for what John called Sherlock's deduction voice. "You are telling me that you were led to believe that you are somehow abusing me and that you tried to change it by... altering your behavior?"

 

John nodded, miserable at how completely he had failed this important task. At how he had made things worse, instead of better and hurt Sherlock terribly in the process. He almost didn't notice the small smile that played around pale lips, until Sherlock spoke.

 

"Didn't it cross your mind that I like you nagging me about sleeping and eating and also that I enjoy my time spend away from my experiments or my work, once in a while?"

 

John shook his head and Sherlock stared at him in disbelief. "John, do you really think that I would do any of these things - eating, sleeping or sex - if I didn't want it? Do you really believe that I'm either so dependent on you or that you are such a great manipulator that I wouldn't reject your advances. In fact, I have rejected food, sleep and sex quite often when I was completely absorbed in my work. You should know that as you are the only one who is interested in me doing either of these things."

 

John's eyes had widened fractionally with every example, so that it felt like they were falling out of their holes any second now. If what Sherlock had said was true - and if John took just a second to remember all the times Sherlock had rejected all offers except for cups of tea - then John was the biggest idiot of the century - if not the millennium - but...

 

"You tell me often enough that your experiments are time sensitive and then you still allow me to take you to bed."

 

It was neither a question nor a statement, but it had the effect of painting a blush on pale cheeks as Sherlock averted his eyes. "I only do so, because... I like how you try to make me lose track of time. And it's not like you deceive me. I can always deduce when you have planned some lengthy activities in bed and... if I'm really not in the mood or don't have the time for it, then you never manage to convince me otherwise. Didn't you realise that?"

 

John shook his head. Honestly, he hadn't even thought about it more deeply, after his first shock at the realisation that their relationship could be deemed unhealthy. He had been too busy forcing himself to leave Sherlock alone that he hadn't taken the time to look at their situation more closely.

 

"So, you just stopped all your nagging and our lovemaking and the small touches, because you thought you were somehow manipulating me? There is nothing else behind it? You haven't grown tired of me?" The questions were delivered in a matter of fact tone, but John knew Sherlock long enough to notice the slight tremble in his voice. He would hate himself for the rest of his life for making Sherlock walk through this hell of doubts. 

 

"I was just an idiot. No hidden agendas and I could never tire of you... I love you." John pressed the last words out between sobs and found himself suddenly enfolded by strong arms as he was pressed against a broad chest, when the world blurred before his eyes.

 

"So, you don't... don't think," John started and then took a few shaky breaths to get himself back under control. "You don't feel like our relationship is unhealthy?" He had come to the conclusion himself, but he needed Sherlock's verbal approval to let go of the obsessive thoughts that had haunted him for days and throughout the nights.

 

"No." The voice was a whisper against his hair. "Some of it might be unusual - the body parts, experiments and your gun - but then, we have never been a normal couple."

 

John smiled against the silky dressing gown, but then frowned once more, when he thought of something else. "You didn't say anything about my physical attacks on you?"

 

The chest under him heaved with a sigh. "You mean the couple of times, when you shook me after I almost managed to poison myself or the time when you punched me after I returned from the dead. Or are you still upset about the time you did as asked when we worked on the case of Miss Adler? Really John, you are light years away from domestic violence. A real feast, while living with me, I must say."

 

Slowly, very slowly, John allowed himself to relax against Sherlock and to believe that his boyfriend was speaking the truth... and that he had almost destroyed the most important thing in the world in his eagerness to change their status quo. He could have fallen asleep like this, if a sudden thought hadn't struck and brought him back to full alertness. "Did you walk through the kitchen barefoot?"

 

At Sherlock's nod, John dropped to his knees in front of him to inspect the - very cold - feet of his boyfriend before getting up with a few well chosen curses. "Stay here, I'm getting the first aid kit. You have at least ten splitters in each sole... Idiot," he added fondly and pressed a gentle kiss to his boyfriend's jaw before he went to retrieve his medical supplies, followed by a small smile on Sherlock's lips.

 

OOO

 

"Ouch!" 

 

Sherlock hissed, when John removed the last shards of glass and went to disinfecting and bandaging his left foot like he had already done with the other. The whole procedure had taken about an hour and Sherlock felt completely exhausted. It wasn't merely the throbbing in his feet, but also the emotional strain of the past several days that had burned him out like only cases with Moriarty involved had managed before. The fear of losing John - and the pain at believing that there was nothing to stop this from happening - in combination with the relief at the realisation that everything had just been a big, bloody misunderstanding had almost been too much for Sherlock to endure. He felt ready to fall asleep where he sat - damned be a stiff neck in the morning.

 

"You are lucky that nothing was sliced open," John murmured as he finished his work and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his big toe. " You will probably be able to walk normally in a couple of days. Just walking, mind you," his boyfriend added with a small smile. "No running after serial killers or chasing over rooftops." 

 

Sherlock managed a small pout for good measure, but he couldn't find it in him to be disappointed about the news. He didn't feel like solving a case right now - or maybe that was just the exhaustion speaking - and he would rather prefer to...

 

"Can you call in sick for the next couple of days?" The question was out, before Sherlock could double guess himself and light eyes looked at him with amusement. "So that I can bring you your phone and ran some errands for you, because now you have an excuse for not getting up from the couch?"

 

"No." Sherlock gnawed at his lower lip and then decided to just speak his mind. After all, this evening - and the last couple of weeks - had shown what could happen if they didn't communicate with each other and he didn't fancy any new misunderstandings, as he still needed to work through the effects of the latest one. "I want to... cuddle up to you in bed and... I need to make up for the last few weeks."

 

The laughter vanished from John's eyes and was replaced with regret and anger - anger at himself as his next words proved. "I can't start to tell you how sorry I'm, Sherlock. I... it sounded so logical to me and I believed that I would make things better, but instead..."

 

"It's okay," Sherlock interrupted him. "It's not... you aren't the first to make a mistake and your intentions were good. I don't... I don't want to dwell on it forever."

 

"The way to hell is paved with good intentions." Sherlock frowned at this, not sure what to make of these words when John shook his head quietly and got to his feet. "Thank you for forgiving me." He breathed a kiss to his forehead and Sherlock savored the touch like a hiker would savor the first drop of fresh water, after days in the desert.

 

"Will you come to bed with me?" 

 

The whisper caressed Sherlock's ear, but it only sparked a tiny flicker of interest in him as exhaustion covered his mind in a fine layer and made his muscles ache. "I'm not really in the mood... not because of this evening," Sherlock hurried to add as to not make John feel even worse. "But I'm exhausted."

 

Instead of disappointment, a gentle smile took over John's features as he stroked a pale cheek with his index finger. "I didn't mean it this way." John pressed their foreheads together and met his searching gaze. "I rather thought of sleeping together in the literal sense and... maybe some cuddling. And to answer your former question, I have collected enough overtime to take a few days off."

 

Sherlock smiled contently and then startled, when he felt John's hands on his back and under his knees. "John?"

 

"You don't think that I will let you walk to the bedroom, do you? Not with your feet and the mess in the kitchen." A quiet yelp was torn from Sherlock's lips as John lifted him bridal style and he didn't have a chance but to sling his arms around his lover's neck and hold on to him as he was carried through the flat.

 

Sherlock trusted John to not let him fall, but he still breathed a relieved sigh, when he was carefully laid down on their bed. "I just need to use the bathroom, won't be long, love."

 

Sherlock listened to the sounds in the bathroom and barely managed to stay awake, until even steps announced John's return to him. "You could have turned off the light, already."

 

Sherlock only hummed in reply to this ridiculous statement. He would have needed to move to turn it off and besides, he would have fallen asleep if the light hadn't been on. Never mind that he wanted to sleep, but he didn't want to give into his body's needs before John wasn't next to him.

 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the mattress dipped and a second later Sherlock found himself snuggled against his lover's side and with the heavy covers drawn over them, creating a heavenly cocoon of warmth.

 

Strong arms came up around Sherlock and held him closer to the rhythmical beat of John's heart. "I missed you so much, Sherlock," came the breathless whisper from above and Sherlock could only nod in agreement. He had missed this, too: John's warmth and scents surrounding and enveloping him, while his steady heartbeat told him that everything was fine. He was safe with John and John was safe with him. It was all that mattered. They had braced the storm of their latest misunderstanding together and now Sherlock was free to hold onto his lover as he fell asleep.


End file.
